


Warmth

by AdorabloodthirstyKitty



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 00:36:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15718305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdorabloodthirstyKitty/pseuds/AdorabloodthirstyKitty
Summary: Hank doesn't usually cook, but he doesn't usually fall in love with androids, either. Things change. People change.





	Warmth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [feistymuffin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feistymuffin/gifts).



> just a little something I started working on w my girl when we wanted to work on the same topic. I hope you like it sweetpea, and I hope it helps make your day even a little bit better ♡♡♡♡♡

It's not that Hank can't cook. It's not that he doesn't like cooking, per se. But grabbing his usual at the Chicken Feed or any number of fast food places around the city is so much easier than the mess and work of cooking for himself. He doesn't have the time, he tells himself. He doesn't like the mess and cleanup, doesn't have the patience for the work half the time. And when he got bad, when it was a struggle just to go out of his house or eat anything at all, the thought of taking time out of his day to cook anything more than leftovers in the microwave was almost unheard of.

It's been months, almost a year since that time in his life. A year of changes, from living alone to having a roommate, from his angry, bitter, sad past to someone who's slowly getting better, day by day. He has Connor to thank for a good portion of that change, but he knows that Connor would never allow him to give him all the credit, no matter how vital he's been to that change.

Almost a year later, and he stands at the counter, bowls and ingredients scattered across every available surface, flour lightly dusted across every inch of his immediate surroundings. And that's how Connor finds him early Monday morning, batter splattered on his hand, hair tied back, and a plate overflowing with pancakes sitting at his elbow, two more cooking on the griddle in front of him. Hank doesn't hear him come in so much as feel his presence, feel his eyes looking him over, the feeling of someone else in the room. He doesn't say anything at first, doesn't make any sound that Hank can hear as he flips the pancakes one last time, barely surprised as Connor's arms snake around his middle, a familiar pointy chin resting on his shoulder before a pair of soft lips find his cheek in a gentle kiss.

“Good morning, Hank.”

“Morning, Con.”

They don't say anything more, the day quiet and peaceful, the light above the stove bathing everything in a warm glow as Hank leans into the embrace of his partner, head tilting enough that their temples touch.

“Did you get enough sleep?” Connor asks, shifting slightly to hold Hank a little tighter. Hank scratches at his beard, transferring the last couple pancakes to the top of the stack, turning off the stove before turning in Connor's arms to wrap his arms around him in return.

“Probably not, but it was more than the last few nights,” he hums, and he can see the small creases near Connor's eyes and the subtle frown pull at his mouth, clearly not very pleased. Hank gives a wry smile, shrugging a shoulder, and Connor leans up enough to slot their lips together in a quick kiss, a gentle brush of lips before pulling back with the hint of a smile.

“Grab yourself a plate, I'll put the rest away,” he hums, a challenge in his eyes when Hank frowns, ready to argue. “I want to help.” Hank softens at that, at the gentleness in his tone, and relents, kissing his forehead before pulling away from loosening arms to grab himself a plate from the cupboard and scooping up a small stack, Connor's hand a warm presence on his shoulder blade, rubbing circles at the juncture between shoulder and neck until he pulls away fully to move to the table.

The silence is calm, the only sound that of Connor putting the rest of the large stack away in the freezer for another day and the clink of cutlery as Hank eats his food, Sumo coming to sit with his large head in Hank’s lap as he watches him eat with pleading brown eyes. Hank tries and fails to ignore his puppy dog eyes, sneaking him a bite here and there while Connor's back is turned.

Eventually Connor comes to sit across from him, the feeling of his ankle knocking against Hank’s as he scratches Sumo between the ears. It's domestic and comfortable, warm and calming. It's all the things Hank never expected to have in his life again. But as he looks up into warm brown eyes, brimming with affection and easy happiness, he can't imagine living any other way.


End file.
